


Ritual Torture

by HolmesianDeduction



Series: 25 Days of Holiday Fic 2k12 [10]
Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - John Le Carré
Genre: Character Study, Eggnog, Foreshadowing, Gen, Holidays, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 22:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[25 Days of Holiday Fic: Day 11 - Eggnog]</p>
<p>Every year, Control replaces the tea in his office with something more sinister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ritual Torture

             It was around the second week of December that it happened.  The aroma of Control’s jasmine tea would suddenly go away, replaced by another, even more dreaded scent.  With few exceptions - notably Smiley, but also Haydon who made a policy of carrying his own coffee around - the already small number of visits made by various personnel to Control’s office dropped by half.

             Rumour was that Control himself didn’t even like eggnog and had been heard comparing it to having a throat full of phlegm, and it was true that during the time that the eggnog lurked in his office, Control was even more difficult to deal with than usual.  In fact, the only person who would willingly drink the stuff was Roy Bland, which did nothing to improve his popularity with the debs and earned a shudder from even Jim Prideaux, who wasn’t known for scrupulous tastes in food.

             That last year was the first year in which there was no eggnog present in Control’s office, but only the same tea as usual, and the whispers had filtered through the corridors and offices that something was even more wrong than had been anticipated.  It was the absence of Control’s favourite holiday torture device, more than the coughing and the odd flush to his cheeks, that spelled out for the fifth floor what no one was willing to say, and from that point on, there was the air of last rites in every meeting held, not in the rumpus room, but in Control’s musty office.


End file.
